I am a single mother and have been for the past two years. My husband of five years left me with two small children, Holly and Kenneth. We didn't get divorced; he just left. At first he sent child support. That stopped a year ago. I have no idea where he is.
My first job is at a hospital. I am a technician. I make $9.00 an hour. My second job is cleaning houses. I started doing that last fall after Holly got sick and my HMO refused to pay all her bills. I still owe $3,000 in medical bills.
I went to Mr. Brown to have my taxes done because I didn't know what to do about my house cleaning income. To my astonishment and delight, Mr. Brown told me that as a single mother with two small children I could claim head of household, a child tax credit, and an earned income credit. He said I would get a refund of over $4,000, even though the hospital had only withheld $1,800. He also told me that I would get the refund a lot quicker if we had it deposited right into my checking account. All he needed, he said, was a blank deposit slip. I gave him one.
After a week, I started calling the bank to see if the deposit had arrived. With a $4,000 refund I could pay off all my daughter's past due medical bills, quit my second job and spend more time with my children.
After three weeks, when the deposit still hadn't arrived, I called Mr. Brown.
"Mr. Brown, this is Heather Hansen. You did my taxes."
"Yes, Ms. Hansen, how are you today; what can I do for you?"
"It has been three weeks. I still don't have my refund. How long should it take?"
"You should get it any time now. If you don't get it by next week you can call me back."
"Can't we just call them. I really need the money."
"We could try, but it wouldn't do any good. Their phones are always busy, and when we do get through they don't know anything. We always send a form or a letter. If you still don't have it by next week call me back." Mr. Brown was obviously very busy. I hung up the phone, feeling sort of limp.
A week passed. The refund did not arrive and I called Mr. Brown again.
"Mr. Brown, this is Heather Hansen. It has been another week. I still don't have my refund."
"Oh - well - come by the office and we will fill out a form."
"Do I have to. I'm really tired and Kenneth has a cough. Can't you just call them."
"No. If you come by the office I'll help you with the form. Otherwise, you can just wait for it."
"I really can't. I have a sick kid. Isn't there anything you can do?"
"No, but you can call them yourself if you want to." He gave me the phone number. I hung up the phone, feeling very tired.
I dialed the number. It was busy. I dialed again. It began to ring. An answering machine came on after the second ring, and gave me a menu. I punched the number for "Customer Service". After what seemed like an hour listening to recorded messages, a real live person came on the line.
"This is Customer Service. My name is Ms. Yates. How may I help you?"
I explained my situation to Ms. Yates as best I could. She told me she wanted to help, but that I would have to fill out a form. She asked for my address and told me the form should arrive the next day. It did, along with a pre-addressed envelope.
The form was a Form 3911. The title at the top said "Taxpayer Statement Regarding Refund". I filled it out. I put my name and address in the right boxes, and checked the other boxes that seemed to apply to me. It was all very confusing.
I mailed the form in the pre-addressed envelope.
Two weeks later the form came back, with a line at the top filled in by the IRS. It said, "We sent you a refund for $4,111 on March 14, 2000. A nearby box labeled "Direct Deposit" had been checked. A form letter attached stated that the refund had been made as requested and nothing more could be done. I was confused. March 14 was three weeks ago. My bank had not received it, or at least claimed they hadn't. I sat on my couch and cried. I didn't know what to do.
The next day I explained the situation to my boss, a middle aged nurse. She told me that the IRS had a walk in office, and that I should go see them. She told me to get all my papers together and just show up. She even gave me the next morning off to do it.
After work I got my papers together and put them in a folder. There were only two. The first paper was my copy of the tax return. It had "Client Copy" stamped on the front in red ink. The next paper was the IRS form titled "Taxpayer Statement Regarding Refund". Then I realized that maybe I should also take a copy of my deposit slip, since that is where the money should have gone. I tore out a deposit slip, and put it in the envelope. I sat the folder on top of my bedroom dresser and fixed dinner.
After the kids were fed and put to bed, I watched TV for a half-hour. I was tired, but restless. I went to the kitchen, fixed myself some tea and got my folder. I poured the papers on the kitchen table and sat looking at them. I started looking through the pages of the "Client Copy" tax return. I had never done this before. On page 2 toward the bottom, to the left of my refund amount was a section labeled "Refund". It contained two numbers. One was labeled "routing number" and the other was labeled "account number". There was also a box that had been checked. It said "Type: Checking". I thought "this is interesting - must have something to do with the direct deposit." I slid the deposit slip next to the numbers on the tax return and tried to compare them. They were different. That seemed strange. I put the papers back into the folder and went to bed.
The next morning I went to the IRS office. I explained my situation to a lady behind a counter and showed her my papers. She took me through a door into a very plain office and to the desk of a middle-aged man. The nameplate on his desk said "Robert Harris". The counter lady and Mr. Harris talked to each other for a moment in hushed tones, and Mr. Harris turned to me and said, "My name is Bob Harris. This is the Taxpayer Advocate Service. We are here to help you. Ms. Stevens tells me you didn't get your refund. May I see your papers please?" I handed him my folder.
He glanced through my papers for what seemed like a few seconds, looked up at me and said, "I see. Your refund went to someone else's account."
I was stunned. I was speechless. I blurted, "But what about the form, it says you sent my refund on March 14?"
"Yes, we sent the refund all right. We sent it to the account listed on your tax return. Here, let me show you."
He laid page 2 of my "Client Copy" on the desk in front of me so I could read it and slid my deposit slip next to the section labeled "Refund".
"See these numbers here," he said, pointing to the numbers that I had puzzled over the night before. "The numbers on your deposit slip and the numbers on the tax return should be the same. They aren't. Your refund went to someone else's account." "Unfortunately" he continued, "we cannot issue you a new check and then reclaim the refund". As you can see from our Pontius Pilate letter, we sent the refund to the account you specified on your tax return."
"Potius Pilate letter?"
"Oh - that's IRS jargon - it means we did what the law requires of us and now we're washing our hands of the matter."
"Oh."
"The term comes from the christian bible. Pontius Pilate was the Roman official who ordered Christ's execution to appease a jewish mob. He then publicly washed his hands in an attempt to absolve himself of any responsibility." Mr. Harris paused, and then continued, "A lot of people think IRS people are a bunch of Romans. Even some IRS people occasionally think we act like Romans."
"Does this mean that there is nothing you can do to help me?" I was getting really depressed.
"Well - not exactly. It is a bit complicated. Sometimes the law does strange things; it doesn't always work as intended."
"I don't understand."
Mr. Harris leaned back in his chair, looked up at the ceiling and folded his hands across his middle. He then looked at me with a sort of smile and said, "Let me explain."
"If you had asked for a paper check and this had happened it would be easy. We could issue you another check and go after the person who got the first one. You see, in order to deposit a paper check a person must endorse it - they have to sign it. If the check isn't theirs and they sign it anyway they have committed a crime. It is called a forged endorsement."
"It doesn't work that way with direct deposits. The money is zapped out of our account into the account listed on your return. We have no way to make sure it is your account. The person who gets it doesn't have to sign anything. The money just shows up in their account."
"Can't you just go take it back?"
"No. In fact, due to a law called the Right to Financial Privacy Act the bank cannot even tell us who got the money."
"This all sounds very confusing."
"Oh, it gets worse. Bank rules specifically state that the bank's duty ends with applying the money to the right number. Their rules don't require them to even look at the name on the deposit. Furthermore, the numbers printed on your deposit slip are designed to be read by machines, not people. It is very confusing. Some of us here at the IRS have tried for years to get the banks to at least print the numbers in such a way that people can easily read them. So far we have had no success."
"Sounds like I'm just screwed."
"Not necessarily." Mr. Harris suddenly stood up, reached for a cup on the corner of his desk and said, "I need some coffee - want some?"
"Well - sure - ok." I was surprised.
Mr. Harris returned after a couple of minutes, handed me a warm cup of black goo and sat sipping his own. He was very reflective. He then looked at me with a fatherly expression and said, "I notice you filed head of household with two children. It might help if I knew a little more about that."
I was surprised. I couldn't see what my personal circumstances had to do with getting my refund, but I also couldn't see any reason not to tell him, so I did. Before I had finished I had poured out the whole sorry tale; the abandonment, no child support, the medical bills, the second job, all of it. Mr. Harris sat quietly and listened to all of it. At some point he handed me a box of tissues.
When I finished, I realized that Mr. Harris was looking past me, off into space somewhere. Finally he began to speak.
"I've got a daughter about your age, Ms. Hansen. She has a couple of kids too. Our circumstances are a bit easier than yours, but I do understand."
"I'll help you as much as I can. If nothing else, I can send you to one of my lawyer friends - a couple of them owe me a favor. But first, I would like to try an easier way."
"Your tax preparer probably knows who got your money. It is probably one of his other clients. My guess is that he put someone else's account number on your return by mistake. If that is the case, he can call his other client and ask that your money be returned to you. If it works you'll have your money in a day or two and no one has a hassle."
"What if that doesn't work?"
"How about we cross that bridge if it comes? Meanwhile, call the preparer." Mr. Harris reached across his desk and handed me his card. "Also, keep this handy. Call me after you talk to the preparer."
As I got into my car I realized that it was not yet 10:00 AM. Mr. Brown was probably in his office. I decided to stop at his office rather than call him. I did not realize that the day was April 5th, ten days before April 15. When I got to Mr. Brown's office, I found a madhouse. I almost left, even before speaking to anyone, but then I remembered how much I needed my refund. I stepped up to the lady at the desk and blurted, "Mr. Brown did my taxes and I have a problem and The IRS says I need to talk to Mr. Brown."
The lady behind the desk responded, "What sort of problem?"
I looked around the room at all the people waiting to see Mr. Brown and thought for a second. I really didn't want to talk to this lady in front of all those people. Then it occurred to me that Mr. Brown would surely not want me talking in front of all those people.
"It is private. The IRS told me to talk to Mr. Brown."
"Ok, take a seat. Can I give him your name?"
"Yes, Heather Hansen."
I sat down and picked up a magazine. I had hardly opened it when I realized the desk lady was standing in front of me. "Mr. Brown will see you now."
As I sat down in a chair at the side of Mr. Brown's desk I realized he had a file in front of him with my name on it. He looked a little shaken.
"Heather, oh - may I call you Heather?"
"Well - yes - if you like."
"It seems we have a problem. I pulled your file after we talked. It seems the direct deposit account number on your tax return is not the same as the number on your deposit slip."
"Yes, I know. That is what the IRS just told me."
"The IRS? You have already talked to the IRS about this?" Mr. Brown seemed concerned.
"Well - yes - you told me to call them - remember?"
"I suppose I did."
"Mr. Brown, do you know who got my money? "
"Well - uh - that is confidential."
"The IRS thought maybe you made a mistake and put someone else's number on my tax return and that they got my refund. Is that what happened?"
"I just told you - that is confidential."
"You mean you can't help me?"
"I'll be happy to refund your income tax preparation fee."
"But that is only $150. My refund is over $4,000. I need that money."
"I'm sorry Ms. Hansen, I don't have your money. I'll refund your preparation fee, but that is all I can do."
I was stunned. Mr. Harris had been so positive. I got up and left. I was in shock.
I got into my car and just sat. I was too numb to drive. I had thought this would be easy. It now looked impossible.
Then I remembered the card Mr. Harris has given me. Then I realized it was not yet noon. Maybe Mr. Harris would still be in his office. I drove there.
It was ten minutes before noon when I walked into the IRS office. Ms. Stevens was behind the counter helping someone else. When she finished she looked at me and I asked, "Could I please see Mr. Harris?"
"I'll see if he is still in."
He was. Ms. Stevens ushered me in. I sat in the same chair and told Mr. Harris what had happened.
He listened quietly, then said, "I've got a lunch appointment that I'm late for right now. When I get back I'll make a few phone calls on your behalf. Where can I call you?"
I gave him both my work number and my home number.
My phone was ringing as I unlocked my apartment door that evening after work. It was still ringing when I got the door unlocked and answered it. It was Mr. Brown.
"Heather Hansen?"
"Yes."
"This is Bob Brown - the guy who did your taxes."
"Yes, Mr. Brown." I was surprised. I didn't know what to say.
"I've been thinking about our conversation - about the other client getting your refund. I would like to give you his name - if you promise not to tell him I gave it to you. Can you do that - can you promise not to tell him I told you?"
"Well - yes - I suppose." The only person I intended to tell worked for the IRS.
"Ok, his name is Sam Steffan." Mr. Brown then gave me Sam's phone number and address, excused himself and hung up.
The next morning I called Mr. Harris from work.
"Mr. Harris, this is Heather Hansen."
"Yes Heather, how are you today?"
"I'm fine, thanks. I got a call from Mr. Brown last night. He gave me the name and address of the person who got my refund."
"Good. I thought that might happen. I talked to him yesterday. He seemed like a decent person. Want to share it with me?"
I gave Mr. Harris the information. He told me to call him in a week if I hadn't heard from him sooner.
Four days later I got a call at work. It was Mr. Harris.
"Heather, can you stop by our office. I have something for you?"
"My refund check?"
"Yep."
"I'll have to ask my boss."
My boss said OK, and I drove straight to the IRS office. Ms. Stevens waved me straight into Mr. Harris's office. He handed me an IRS check in the amount of my refund and a copy of a letter from Mr. Steffan. The letter read,
"Dear IRS,
Thank you for the information regarding the recent unrequested deposit into my checking account. I am more than happy to return it to its rightful owner.
Sincerely,
Sam Steffan"
I sank into the now familiar chair and dabbed my eyes with a tissue from the box that was still setting on the corner of Mr. Harris's desk. I really needed this money.
I looked up at Mr. Harris. He smiled and said, "Sometimes things just work out right. I'm glad we could help."
From somewhere deep inside my head the phrase
"Pontius
Pilate letter" floated up. I smiled back at Mr. Harris and said,
"Thanks.
You know - you're not all Romans."